


A Christmas Story.

by JordanUlysses



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordanUlysses/pseuds/JordanUlysses
Summary: Napoleon sets out on the mission to show Illya just how nice Christmas can be. A Christmas Story in five parts. [Written for an advent calendar and also posted on tumblr.]





	1. Advent Calendar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siri/gifts).



“What is that?“, there was a look of utter disdain on Illya's face, who had just entered their office and spotted the foreign objects on his desk.

Napoleon leaned back with a cordial smile.  
“That, oh partner mine, is an advent calendar.“  
Illya slowly approached his desk. “Who put it there?”  
“The Grinch”, Napoleon replied amused. “I did, who else? So relax, it's not gonna explode.”  
“Must we really take part in this capitalistic hell?”, Illya walked around his desk and hang up his jacket.  
“First of all, it's self-made, so not that capitalistic. Second, don't you listen to the radio? Christmas”, he sang, “is the most wonderful time of the year.”  
Illya looked at him, worry on his face. “Are you going to be that cheerful all through December?”  
“Oh no, that's just the start”, he tipped his chair back with a grin.

“Oh why do I have to suffer”, Illya sat down. “Remind me again, what is the purpose of this?”, he pointed at the 24 boxes arranged on his desk, wrapped each in green or red paper with matching bows. Napoleon had spent quite a few nights on it.  
“To get in the spirit of Christmas of course”, he clapped his hands together. “And it's also an apology, of sorts.”  
“What exactly are you apologizing for?”, now Illya sounded interested. “You have accumulated quite a lot of offenses against me this past year.”  
“Oh Illya, and here I thought we are friends”, he let his chair fall back on the floor. “But this is for all the sweets I may or may not have stolen out of your desk.”  
Illya snorted. “Then I do hope those”, he picked up the parcel with the big number one written on the tag, “are filled to the brink. You owe me a lot of sweets.”  
“Well, only one way to find out”, Napoleon picked up his file again, but glanced over at Illya, who slowly unwrapped package number one. His expression didn't change, but his gaze somewhat softened when he discovered the licorice in it. Napoleon hid his smile behind his papers.


	2. St. Nicholas Day

“What's that?“, this time it was Napoleon who sounded affronted by the object sitting on the desk.  
Illya looked up from his file, his expression neutral. “Seems you got a gift“, he shrugged.  
Napoleon noted that he had already opened today's calendar parcel, a speck of chocolate on his cheek. It nearly made him smile, but then he looked at the bag made of brown cloth again. “If that is what I think it is ...”, he slowly pulled open the string and carefully looked inside, aware that Illya was watching him.

“Seriously”, Napoleon sighed and retied it.  
“Isn't that tradition? On the 6th of December, Saint Nicholas brings sweets to good children”, he held up the rest of his chocolate, “and coal to the ones that were bad”, there was laughter in his eyes, but Napoleon didn't feel like laughing.  
“So this is a subtle hint to say that I was bad?”, he carefully kept every emotion out of his voice.  
Illya waved his hand. “I told you, you accumulated quite a lot of offenses against me, the least of them stolen sweets.”

Napoleon sat down, not looking at his partner. Instead, he pulled out his correspondence and opened the first letter. He managed to ignore Illya for five more minutes, but then he looked up, the comment eating away at him.  
“I never meant to hurt you”, he said.  
Illya looked over at him. “Where did that come from?”  
Napoleon nodded at the coal.  
“Oh”, Illya said softly and then smiled. “I know.”  
“Do you? Because sometimes I can't tell if you are just joking or if you are serious.”  
Illya regarded him silently and then pointed at the bag. “This”, he said, “is a joke. This”, now he pointed at Napoleon, “is serious.”  
“What do you mean?”, he asked, confused.

Illya stood up, coming around his desk. “I mean that you have not hurt me and I know that you never would knowingly and willingly”, now he stood in front of Napoleon, who had turned his chair to face him. “I mean that I have hurt you just now”, Illya continued, his voice still soft, “and I take that very serious.” He cupped Napoleon's cheek in his hand, who froze under the unfamiliar touch.  
“No, it's not … you haven't … I mean ...”, he sighed and leaned into it, something in him melting.  
“Let me take you to dinner tonight, to make it up to you. My treat”, Illya said and Napoleon nodded. “And don't worry my friend, you'll know when I'm really upset with you”, now there was laughter in his eyes again and he brushed his fingers over Napoleon's lips for a moment, before he retreated back to his desk. 

Napoleon picked up the letter he had only pretended to read before. Illya was also absorbed in his file, like nothing had happened. Maybe, Napoleon mused, a bag of coal wasn't such a bad present after all.


	3. Mistletoe

„Stop it right there“, Louise's voice was sharp and Napoleon and Illya, who had just been about to enter the secretaries office, both froze into place in the doorway.  
“What's wrong?”, Illya asked, irritated.  
“Nothing's wrong”, she replied, leaning back with a smirk and pointed above them. Napoleon slowly looked up. He could have sworn it hadn't been there earlier … Illya muttered something incomprehensible.

“And what exactly is supposed to happen now?”, Napoleon asked lightly.  
“You have to kiss”, she clapped her hands together, a gleeful expression on her face. “And it should be a proper one, otherwise no more coffee for you, Napoleon, and I'll confiscate your sweets, Mr. Kuryakin.”  
They both must have pulled a face because she chuckled. “Chop, chop, boys, we don't have all day.”

Suddenly the door to Waverly's office opened and they both sighed their relief.  
“What's going on here?”, the old man asked.  
“They are under the mistletoe”, Luise didn't take her eyes of them, pinning them into place. “So, they have to kiss. Properly.”  
“Well gentlemen”, Waverly looked at them expectantly.  
“Sir, surely ...”, Napoleon started to protest.  
“Surely you don't want to break the tradition. After all, tradition is important.”

Napoleon could feel Illya tugging at his sleeve. “Come on”, he said quietly, so Luise and Waverly couldn't hear him, “let's get it over with.”  
“How very romantic”, Napoleon muttered back, turning towards his partner.  
Illya chuckled. “Believe me, I wanted our first kiss to be different as well.”  
Napoleon had to swallow hard at that. So he had not imagined it, how Illya had touched his lips a few days ago. And he hadn't been the only one dreaming and longing and wishing. Their dinner had been nice, but due to an early meeting the next day they had said goodnight before anything could happen. 

“Let's give them a show”, Illya smirked, “something to keep the office gossip going until Christmas.”  
Napoleon could not help but smile as well and this time he cupped Illya's cheek in his hand, leaning towards him. He was breathless even before their lips touched and had forgotten all about their audience, everything narrowing in on his partner and the soft brush of his lips, the scent of Illya's aftershave filling his lungs, the brush of his fingers on Napoleon's arm, his soft gasp when their kiss deepened.  
This is it, Napoleon thought, there is no way back now. It's him, only him from here on …

He only became aware of their surroundings again when Luise started clapping and cheering. They both pulled apart, Napoleon noting pleased that Illya looked a bit dizzy.  
“Now, gentlemen”, Waverly coughed to get their attention, “I want your reports, if you please …”, he gestured towards his office and they went past Luise, who grinned at them. Napoleon just raised an eyebrow at her.


	4. Christmas Party

The conference room had been turned into a very festive, cozy venue with the help of a lot of decorations and even a small Christmas tree. Napoleon and Luise had stayed up nearly all of last night, getting everything ready for the party, after a few hours starting on the eggnog and singing Christmas songs. Now they sat together in a corner, both very tired after the full day of work, yet still happy and in a cheery mood. Most of the staff had already arrived and Napoleon kept the door in sight.

“Maybe he's still working”, Luise said. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.  
“I told him it's important”, Napoleon said. “He'll come, won't he?”  
“Well, he doesn't exactly seem the Christmas-y type. More like … grinchy”, she giggled and took another sip of her mulled wine.  
“Oh come on. After all, I really want to show him how nice Christmas can be.”  
“You're saying we slaved away all night just to show him the joys of the season?”  
“Not … just”, he admitted and she laughed delighted.  
“So tell me, when you kissed him under the mistletoe ...”, he huffed, sipping from his own mug, “did you like that?”

He glanced at her. She was watching the room, a gleeful expression on her face. He trusted her, of course, after all the time they had worked together. But this … this was different, this he wasn't able to share.  
“You know, my brother lives down in Chicago”, she said and he was irritated for a moment at the sudden change of topic. “He shares a flat with this guy, for … uh, I think it's like five years now? Two bachelors, living together, very happily. So really …”, she sat up and turned to look at him, “I don't mind. And I won't tell.”  
He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.  
“Yes”, he said, “I liked it. Kissing him. And I want to do it again. He's ...”, he had no idea how to finish the sentence, but she smiled and nodded anyway.  
“You are more my type, I have to say, but I can certainly see the appeal. He's quite handsome.”  
“I'm your type? But you always rejected me.”  
“And good thing I did. Let's be honest, we wouldn't work out as lovers.”  
He studied her for a moment. “Probably true, if just because of this job”, he eventually said, “I'm glad we are friends though.”  
“Exactly. That's far better than a flimsy affair”, she giggled and then took his hand. “Let's dance, shall we? I always wanted to dance with you.”

He stood up and pulled her with him, leading the way to the small dance floor. Bing Crosby had just started to sing ~ I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know ~, and he pulled Luise close, swaying with the music. She rested her head on his shoulder again and for a moment everything seemed to be perfect and peaceful. Then, he looked up, at the door – Illya was standing there, his eyes fixed on Napoleon. Abruptly he turned around and left the room.

Napoleon let go of Luise. “Sorry, Illya was just there.”  
She turned around, looking for him. “Oh? I don't see him.”  
“No, he went away again. I gotta ...”, he made his way through the room quickly. The hallway was deserted and he started to run. He turned the corner and there he was, walking briskly in the direction of the lab.

“Illya!”, he called and his partner stopped, slowly turning around.  
Napoleon stopped in front of him. There was something hard around Illya's eyes, in the lines around his mouth and Napoleon swallowed hard.  
“Don't you want to join the party?”, he asked.  
“Not particularly, no.”  
“But … we are having fun.”  
“Yes, I could see that”, Illya crossed his arms.  
“What do you … I was just … Oh. I was dancing with Luise.”  
“Yes. She looks very pretty in that green dress, does she not.”  
“You think ...”, Napoleon bit his lip and then reached out to touch Illya's arm. “You really think I would date her, after …”  
“After what?”, Illya's voice was still hard.  
“After we kissed. I wouldn't, I would never do that to you. Besides, Luise and I are just friends.”  
Illya's face softened a bit and he sighed.  
“I am sorry. That was a bit childish of me.”

Napoleon smiled and then closed the gap between them, pulling his partner, his Illya, in a tight embrace. “Don't apologize, there is no need. It's Christmas, after all.”  
“You American's and your capital-”, Napoleon had let go and now interrupted him with a kiss. Illya sighed again, this time happily.  
After a moment Napoleon pulled away. “Now, will you come back with me to the party? I got Waverly to dress up as Santa, he is on in ...”, he checked his watch, “half an hour. Maybe he even brings you a present”, he smirked at him.  
“I believe”, Illya said, while they walked back to the party, “I already got mine.”


	5. Christmas Eve

“You are not working tomorrow“, Napoleon announced when he entered their office. Illya looked up from his file, raising an eyebrow.  
“You are mistaken. I am.”  
“No”, Napoleon slapped down a sheet of paper on his partner's desk. “Three agents have to be on duty on holidays”, he pointed at the three names and then tapped on Illya's. “You're the fourth, so it's not necessary for you to work.”  
“But I like working on holidays”, Illya replied. “I don't care about it.”  
“But I do. If you insist on working, you can report to my flat tonight at ...”, he thought for a moment, going through all the things he had still to prepare, “eight o'clock sharp. Don't forget your toothbrush.”  
“Oh”, Illya said softly and then a smile spread over his face. “Well. If duty calls ...”  
“Don't be late”, Napoleon picked up the last of the presents, the number 24 written on the tag with golden ink. “And don't forget this.”  
“I wasn't”, Illya took it from his hand, their fingers touching for a moment. “I was saving it for later.”

Napoleon drove home around four, starting to prepare the turkey. He had already taken care of the stuffing yesterday and when the turkey was in the oven he made some Christmas cookies, Bing Crosby's voice keeping him company. He also wrapped Illya's presents and hang up the stockings and then did some finishing touches on the Christmas tree he had bought a few days ago. When eight approached he had laid the table, the turkey filled the apartment with a delicious smell and the fire in the fireplace was crackling along. Everything was perfect.

Eight came – and passed and Napoleon sat on the couch with a glass of eggnog, tapping his fingers against the rim. Illya would not do that to him, not after they had kissed – twice by now, and Illya knew how important this was to him. Maybe, he mused, his partner had gotten cold feet, maybe he had been too straightforward, maybe Illya did not want their relationship to develop in this direction after all, maybe he was comfortable with it being in a state of possibilities and near misses. They had tried to set up a few dates since the Christmas party, but work had always come between them.

Half an hour ticked by slowly and Napoleon got up to retrieve his communicator. Riley was on duty and reported that Illya had left the office around six. Then, he tried to get a connection to Illya, but there was no answer and Napoleon started to worry. At nine his worry had become overwhelming and after not getting an answer on the line to Illya's flat he went over to his partner's door. No one answered when he rang and there was no light coming from the windows. For a moment he was lost at what to do, but eventually he got in his car and drove back in the direction of work, taking the route Illya usually took.

He stopped at the side of the road when he spotted Illya's car, a big dent at the back, a police officer standing at the side.  
“Excuse me officer”, he could feel the blood pounding in his ears, fear pumping through his body. He slowly pulled out his UNCLE ID. “What happened here?”  
“Sir”, the policeman saluted. “Car crash. I'm just waiting for the tow truck to take the second vehicle away. Everything is slow on Christmas night.”  
“Was … anyone hurt?”, he asked, his voice shaking.  
“Yes. One of the gentleman has a broken arm, he was brought to the hospital. The other gentleman accompanied him.”  
“Do you have their names?”  
“Sorry, Sir, my colleague already took the paperwork with him.”  
“One of them”, he pointed at the car, “is a man called Illya Kuryakin. Medium height, blond hair. Was he injured?”  
“Oh no, Sir, the other gentleman got injured. Mister Kuryakin, now I remember his name, he insisted on going with him.”  
“I suppose they went to the Presbyterian?”  
“Yes, it's the nearest one.”  
“Thank you, officer. Merry Christmas.”  
“And to you Sir.”

The drive was short and the nurse at the reception told him the room number when he showed his ID. He knocked on the door. Illya was sitting on the edge of a bed, talking to a man laying in it, his arm bandaged. His partner looked up, a smile appearing on his face.  
“Napoleon”, he got up, “what are you doing here?”  
“You didn't come. I went looking for you.”  
“Yes, I'm sorry, I forgot my communicator on my desk. This is Mister John Smith, and yes, it is his real name. He was on the way home, having gotten some last Christmas presents. His family is on the way here now, I was keeping him company until then.”  
Napoleon nodded at the man. “When will your family arrive?”  
“They should be here in half an hour. They left as soon as they heard, they were already sitting at the table. No Christmas meal this year”, he sighed.  
“Mh, that would be just enough time ...”, Napoleon tapped his chin and then nodded decisively. “I'll be back in half an hour”, he turned to leave the room. Illya followed and caught his arm when they were outside.  
“Where are you going?”, his partner asked. “I'm sorry, I should have called.”  
“It's alright”, Napoleon smiled at him and then leaned forward, kissing him for a moment. “I'm just going to fetch our dinner. You're not getting out of Christmas”, he tapped Illya's nose and then left the hospital.

At home he got out a picnic basket – finally an opportunity to use the old thing – and packed the food in boxes and also got some plates and cutlery. He arrived back at the hospital just as Mister Smiths family arrived as well, Mrs. Smith and two kids, a boy and a girl around eight. He introduced himself and then showed them the way to the room, the nurse waving them through. There were tears and hugs and in the end they sat around the bed, eating Napoleon's stuffed turkey with mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables. Napoleon told a few stories, the family now laughing and chatting along and he could feel Illya's eyes on him.  
They collected the plates when they were empty, Mrs. Smith pulling them into tight hugs. “Thank you, Napoleon, thank you, Illya”, she took their hands. “You made what would have been an awful night bearable.”  
“It's our pleasure”, Napoleon replied and kissed her cheek.

They were silent on the drive home, until Illya turned to him. “I'm sorry I frightened you.”  
Napoleon shook his head, reaching over to take Illya's hand for a moment. “It's alright. Nothing happened and we managed to have our Christmas dinner after all. I made too much food anyway.”  
“Oh, I would have eaten the rest.”  
Napoleon chuckled, pulling into a parking spot in front of their apartment block.  
“I may have forgotten to pack the cookies. You just need to leave a few of them for Santa.”  
Illya grinned. “Do I really?”  
“Yes, that's tradition. And you remember how the old man said tradition is important.”  
Illya sighed.

They fell asleep on the couch, cuddled up together. They had finished all but a few cookies, those now laying on a plate on the windowsill, together with a glass of milk. The fire had burned down, the ashes glowing in the dark, illuminating the stockings and the two sleeping men. They were holding hands, Illya spread out over his partner, his face nestled in the crook of Napoleon's neck. It was not what Napoleon had planned for the night, but it was still perfect and they had the whole of Christmas day off.


End file.
